


Aprils Yet to Come

by Rosie_Rues



Series: The Rising Storm [26]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1981, Community: wellymuck, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-07
Updated: 2006-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:18:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_Rues/pseuds/Rosie_Rues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>April 1981. Sirius, Harry and a dirty nappy. Angsty :(</p>
    </blockquote>





	Aprils Yet to Come

**Author's Note:**

> April 1981. Sirius, Harry and a dirty nappy. Angsty :(

"Harry Potter," Sirius murmured, a safety pin between his teeth. "You stink."

Harry gurgled and grinned up at him.

Sirius couldn't help grinning back. It still surprised him sometimes to turn round and find that James wasn't twelve any more. Yet here was Harry, small and fragile and already indomitable.

He gathered the nappy between his fingers and moved it away at arm's length, dropping it onto the living room floor.

"Stinky," he said again, and tickled Harry's stomach. "Whiffy, smelly, stinky."

Harry kicked madly, seeming to enjoy the freedom.

"That's my boy," Sirius said proudly. "We'll have you stripping on the high table yet."

Bugger, he'd left the clean ones on the other side of the room. How the hell did Lily do this so efficiently? Come to think of it, how the hell did she wash these things?

" _Accio_ nappies," he said, and sighed as they shot across the room, landing in a heap behind Harry's head. Why was it that, every time he offered to babysit, the kid turned into a fertiliser factory? What had he ever done to Prongs?

Actually, that might not be a wise line of argument. "Shit. Smelly, runny shit."

Harry stared at him, eyes wide.

"Yes, you," Sirius said, leaning forward to make faces at him. "You can look innocent, my lad. You can't fool me. Uncle Padfoot cannot be so easily put off the scent."

"Pa!" Harry said joyously and weed in his face.

Sirius dodged in time, lurching sideways in a move that would have merited applause if he'd been on a broom. His t-shirt was still drenched but he'd avoided an eyeful this time.

"That, my boy, is not on. Not acceptable in polite society, that. You can only piss on people if you happen to be canine at the time. Have you finished?"

"Pafa!"

Sirius grinned down at him hopelessly. James might claim they were just burps but he knew better. Harry recognised him. He scooped him up, and turned in circles, waiting for the laugh. He was so warm, and so surprisingly heavy for something so small.

Outside the rain was spitting down, covering the windows in webs of water, as if the world was cracking apart. Lily and James were out there somewhere, pretending to be Muggles, and watching a man who might lead them to Voldemort. It had been raining since the month began, cold and relentless. There had been spring flowers out there, but now they laid low, flattened by the weight of the water. The moon, just past full, was hidden by rain clouds.

Harry caught one small fist in the neck of his t-shirt, and the other in his hair, trying to pull himself up. Sirius winced and reached to untangle those tiny fingers. How Harry had any grip at all, he didn't know. His hands were so small. Sirius was sure he'd _never_ been that small.

"You're a runt, Stinky," he said.

"Adah pafa!"

Something wet was soaking through his jeans.

"Oh, cheers, mate," Sirius muttered. "That was my last clean pair of jeans."

"Pafa?" Harry said, lip quivering.

Sirius swung him up, grinning at him. "Oh no, you don't, Stinky. Oh, no, no no. No more crying. Not one bit."

Harry responded to his tone of voice, babbling back at him. Sirius crooked him into one arm and unfolded the nappy with his free hand.

"Right then, let's get you waterproof again. Don't you shit in this one until Lily comes back to deal with it, okay?"

How was he meant to get a nappy round a baby who wriggled like that? It wasn't as if he could stupefy the kid. He managed to grab the corners and pull them round, but that only left him with one hand to do the rest. He'd just have to wait until Harry stopped moving.

"It's April out there," he said. "Your first April. Shame it's a right shitty one. Then again, you're a right shitty one at the moment. Next April will be better. Next April, my ponging Prongling, I'll teach you how to jump in puddles. There's a trick to it, y'know. I'll show you how to splash your Uncle Moony so he shrieks like a girl. If your Uncle Moony ever comes home, that is."

His mood was sinking, and he sighed and stared out into the night. Remus. Oh, fuck, why did it have to be Remus? Why couldn't somebody else be the sneaky, secretive one for once?

A foot met his wrist like a small bludger and he swore and concentrated. If he was really fast, he could grab all the corners at once. Then all he had to do was not stick the pin in the baby.

The end result didn't look much like Lily's version, but it was on, and seemed snug enough to be watertight. It would have to do. He picked Harry up again and walked him over to the window.

"The April after that you'll be a champion. You'll be the best puddle jumper in the whole world. You'll see. Here comes Harry Potter, they'll say, the famous Harry Potter. He jumps in puddles like no one else. And the April after that your dad'll get you your first broom, whatever your mum says. The one after that, you'll be four, Stinky, and that's old enough for a puppy. Would you like that, hey?"

Harry muttered happily, and Sirius rocked him, walking up and down. He should have put him to bed earlier, but he had been too smelly and too miserable. He didn't want to. He wanted to hold on to him, this bundle of promise and defiance that smelt like soap and poo and mashed pears.

"And when you get into Gryffindor," he added, "You'll watch Hufflepuff play Slytherin in April, and I'll show you how to smuggle dungbombs into the changing rooms, I promise. And you'll be a prefect, and Head Boy, and Quidditch captain, and you'll lose as many points as you gain, because you're a Marauder, Stinky, yes you are. And yeah, April, that's when you fool the house elves into adding a babbling beverage to the hot cross bun mix, yes it is, and you'll make it extra strong because you'll be just as good at potions as your mum. And you'll be as good as Quidditch as your dad, and as witty as your Uncle Wormtail and as devious as your Uncle Moony and as gorgeous as me, though the Potter hair is a handicap there. And when you leave school, we'll all be there to watch you win the World Cup for England, even Remus, even if I have to lure him away from his books with a trail of tea cups. And when you retire from Quidditch and become Minister for Magic-"

Remus was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame as if he couldn't bear to stand. His hair had grown long, and it was matted. He was thin, and unshaven, and there were shadows under his eyes.

Sirius stared at him, torn between relief and shock that he could creep up on them so easily.

"That's quite a career for one baby," Remus said, and even his voice sounded old and tired.

"Maybe," Sirius said, holding Harry close.

He saw the weary hurt in Remus' eyes and tried to pretend he hadn't.

"I got home," Remus said, and stopped. He lifted his hand, and then let it fall again. "I got home and you weren't there."

"I'm here."

"I thought you might be."

"Yeah." Remus stared at him, shoulders sagging. "Yeah. So. How's Harry?"

"He's fine."

"Good," he said, and didn't move.

"So," Sirius said.

"So," Remus said, staring at the ceiling.

"Mission go well?"

Remus made a noise which could have been a laugh. "Nobody died."

Sirius bit back the rest of his questions. _Where have you_ been? _What have you been doing? Why won't you tell me about it? What's so bad you can't trust me?_ He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the answers.

Someone in the Order was a spy. Voldemort was recruiting the werewolves. And Remus hadn't spent the last moon with them.

Peter had told him he was being a fool, told him over and over until he couldn't bear to listen. He couldn't stop the sick fear in his stomach, though, and it made him angry, with Remus and with himself. They were meant to be beyond lying to one another.

Harry began to whimper, hands curled into fists.

"S'alright," Sirius said, swaying on his heels. "S'alright, Stinky."

Remus took a few steps forward, in a hesitant, sideways slither. "Is he...?"

"He's _fine_. Wants Lily back, probably."

The whine began to gather force, heading for a howl.

Remus took another step forward. He stank, of dirt and damp and something sharp and animal.

"You're upsetting him," Sirius snapped, shaken. Remus was supposed to be better than that. He wasn't supposed to smell like the wolf. If Remus had let the wolf win, what hope was there for the rest of them?

Remus flinched back, and Sirius thought viciously, _Wild. Animal._

"I - I'll put the kettle on. Would you like tea?"

"No."

"Okay." He turned away, catching himself on the wall. He walked as if every bone in his body hurt.

Harry's howls intensified. Sirius listened to the low, cruel part of his mind that suggested it might be safer if Harry was nervous of Remus, and didn't comfort him. He didn't move until Remus had left the room, and then he stalked upstairs. He had to walk Harry again to get him quiet enough to put in his cot, and his ears were ringing by the time he could lie him down. He drew the blankets up, and tucked a toy dog in next to Harry. Then he stood and looked down at him, red cheeks beginning to fade as he sank into sleep.

"Next April," he said. "Next April, this war will be _over,_ even if I have to end it myself. And we'll live by the sea, in a big house with a garden, you, me, your mum and dad, Remus and Peter. And there will be puddles for you to jump in, and tulips for Padfoot to dig up, and everything will be alright. Next April, Harry, I promise, we'll all be living happily ever after."

He wasn't even sure why he was lying, either to Harry or himself.

When he got downstairs the kettle had boiled, but Remus wasn't in the kitchen. Sirius found him in the downstairs loo, doubled over the toilet bowl, retching painfully.

He hesitated in the doorway. He wanted to rush forward, and drag Remus home, and never let him leave on another mission again. But he couldn't help thinking, _the day after the moon, isn't it? Oh, what have you been eating, Mr Moony? Where have you been?_

And, although he knew Remus knew he was there, he couldn't move, neither to go forwards or back.


End file.
